Of Overgrown Dwarves and Lembas
by Kasmi Kassim
Summary: Gandalf is coming to Rivendell. Little Legolas and Arwen go out to greet him, wherein they encounter danger, pride, and figures of speech while Legolas is distressed, Arwen is disbelieving, and Gandalf is up a tree.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, save the plot.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Gandalf is coming to Rivendell. Little Legolas and Arwen go out to greet him, wherein they encounter danger, pride, and figures of speech while Legolas is distressed, Arwen is disbelieving, and Gandalf is up a tree.

**Author's Note**: This story is very much a standalone, but also takes place during one of little Legolas' periodic visits to Rivendell, as described in my Greenleaf Chronicles. As requested by many readers who wanted more of little Legolas mischief since years ago, I have returned to exploring this topic once more.

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By _**Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**Of Overgrown Dwarves and Lembas**_

_**,**_

**Part 1**

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Spring was spreading its gentle breath upon the hidden valley of Rivendell. The sun was a soft hue, embraced by zephyr winds that danced across the plains. Amid the blossoming flowers, a tinkling laughter could be heard in the House of Healing. Two figures were seated in the ward before a small table, working on a pile of green-stemmed herbs. The elfling swung his legs from his high perch upon a stool, unable to reach the floor.

"Then after you try out the effects of this one," said the yellow-haired elfling eagerly, "can I use it on my potions too?" he peered up into the older elf's face.

The dark-haired youth laughed as he plucked off the leaves and dropped the stiff stems into the pot that rested between them. "After my father deems it safe to use," he said, "but remember, little elf, this is potent and untested."

"I'll remember," said the elfling with excitement. He peered into the pot as he dropped a smoothened stem into it. This was a rare herb he had never used before; he wanted to know what it could do.

The youth eyed him warily. "And you must show me how much you're using before you start boiling. Will you do that?"

The elfling nodded vigorously, his broad smile bursting with exuberant joy. He swung his legs with renewed vigor as his small hands went about plucking the leaves out of the stem.

The youth eyed him, and sighed. _Valar, what have I gotten myself into_… He was still light-headed from the 'nutritional supplement' soup that the elfling had made for him the previous day. But who could refuse such a wide-eyed elfling's excitement to be of help? He chuckled to himself as he glanced at the pot. A little more, and they would be finished with the plucking. Then he would be able to finally test these herbs. His father had been wary of the potential power of these rare plants; doubts had been expressed about letting a certain curious and speedy – very speedy – elfling near such strong and untested herbs, but the elfling had looked upon them with such excited curiosity that Elrond had agreed to let the elfling help with the initial preparing, and watch the potion-making process, if under the supervision of a moderately experienced healer. Despite the wary look he had given his son, who happened to be that moderately experienced healer.

It did not help that the said moderately experienced healer was still light-headed from the elfling's help the previous day.

"I think we are almost ready," he announced, standing up carefully and approaching the stove that lined the wall of the healing ward. He began to feed the fire as he prepared water. The elfling watched with excitement as he plucked the last stem clean, and hugged the gigantic pot and lifted. It was heavy. He hmphed as his little arms strained against the weight.

"How much are we boiling?" the elfling asked, peering into the pot once again. The youth opened his mouth to speak, when a loud boom shook the house.

Two heads whipped toward the door. The elfling blinked. The youth glanced at him.

"Wait here, Legolas," he said curtly, "I'll be back."

Left alone, Legolas blinked at the door, and listened. There were cries of surprise, scurrying feet, and then, a faint smell of smoke. He stood with the giant pot in his arms, worriedly staring at the door. He wanted to go and see – and help, if he could – but Elladan wanted him to stay. Maybe he wanted him to take care of the herbs. Of course! Legolas turned to the stove. Elladan had left the water boiling; he obviously trusted Legolas to finish the task. With determination, he scurried toward the stove, and hefted the pot onto it by lifting himself up to his toes. With a satisfying clunk, the pot rested against the fire. Legolas scurried back to the table, dragged his high stool to the stove, and scampered on top of it. Reaching for a large stirrer that hung on the wall, he began to solemnly prepare the potion.

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The kitchens were filled with smoke, with elves scurrying to and fro with pots and pails of water. But it seemed that the fire had been put out rather quickly, for there was more smoke and confusion than panic. Windows were opened, and elves with aprons milled about, fanning the air. The smoke was beginning to clear when Elladan strode straight into the bakers' kitchen.

There he found what he had been suspecting: a dark-haired elfling, eyes wide, standing with baking mittens that were too big for her little hands. She looked more bewildered than contrite. The dark-haired youth that stood behind her – or rather, between her and the stove, Elladan thought wryly – had the same expression of weary exasperation that matched his twin.

Dark eyes met. Elladan approached, fell to his knees, and began to look the elfling over for injuries. "What happened?" he demanded, lifting up tresses of dark hair and turning her around to scan her neck and ears.

"I was baking," answered the wide-eyed elfling. Elladan gave her a long-suffering look.

"Elrohir," he muttered.

The twin supplemented. "She decided that pouring oil around the fire would make the lembas bake faster."

Elladan's hands stilled. He stared into round dark eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but was too tired to give a proper reprimand. Valar, was this why Ada always looked so weary when he and Elrohir made mischief together? He could handle one elfling burning down the kitchen, or another elfling overhealing the healers, but both of them together… He opened his mouth again, but wearily ran a hand down his face instead. "No doing that next time," he said with mild sternness, and with a sigh, stood.

The child nodded, staring up in curious concern as the youth swayed to his feet. Elrohir gave him a sympathetic look.

"I have just explained to her what oil does to lembas," he said, "especially when it's closer to the fire than the bread."

"Good." Elladan looked long at the elfling. "One of these days one of you will be the death of me."

"Harrowed, are we, brother?" Elrohir's mouth twitched into a smirk. "Legolas giving you trouble?"

"He is under good supervision." Elladan shot an accusatory glance. "Which Arwen evidently was not, when she decided to roast us alive."

The elfling's eyes widened. "I wasn't going to eat-"

"Figure of speech, Arwen," dismissed Elrohir with a wave of his hand, "and I was talking with Ada when I heard the explosion. And thanks to our little Leaf's 'help' yesterday, I couldn't get here fast enough." He rubbed his head absentmindedly, looking a bit ill as he refocused his wandering eyes. "I think my sense of balance is permanently scarred."

It was Elladan's turn to cast his twin a sympathetic look. Then he frowned.

"Talking with Ada? He should be in a council meeting." He glanced down at Arwen as the elfling began to peer into the stove, and reached out to pull her away from its lingering heat. "Is something wrong?"

Elrohir looked thoughtful. "We need to reroute the troops. Glorfindel's patrol is too far away to intercept Gandalf."

"Gandalf?" Elladan stared.

Elrohir nodded. "Ada saw him coming in from the plains. A messenger has been dispatched."

Elladan chewed his lip thoughtfully. "The plains," he repeated, with a distant look of concern. Glancing down at the elfling who listened with wide, curious eyes, his eyes lit up into a twinkle. "You have never met Gandalf before, have you?" A light smile grazed his lips as the child shook her head. "You should ask Legolas about him. He will be very happy when he hears -" he stopped, and the smile on his face froze. "Dear Valar," he murmured, turned, and ran out of the kitchen.

Arwen blinked up at Elrohir. "Where is he going?"

The dark-haired youth stroked the child's warm head. "I think he remembered something."

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Elrond was impressed. It was not every day the lord of the valley was impressed. But he was often impressed these days. Especially when he saw brilliant little elflings. Brilliant elflings armed with the dexterity and skills to quickly cause a disaster. He wanted to sigh aloud.

Elladan stood pensively at the side of the healing ward as his father stood before the table, arms crossed and staring down at the ewer as if pondering how to punish it without hurting its feelings. The potion smelled potent at best, and foul at worst. Legolas stood wide-eyed, looking anxiously at the elvenlord for a response.

Elladan half-expected his father to turn to him with another exasperated look, the I-should-have-known-better-than-to-leave-you-two-alone look, but he looked much too troubled to bother. After all, Elladan had instructed the elfling to wait before dumping the entire content into one little concoction. Although he had undeniably begun the process and left Legolas alone, leading the self-appointed assistant of an elfling to take matters into his own hands, that matter ran into the problem of yet another elfling creating distress in the kitchens, adding to yet another headache. Although excluded from the list of patients the elfling had chosen for his potions the previous day, his father looked just as ill as his two sons. And rightly so, too, for Elladan knew how much excitement this newly discovered herb stock had brought to the Rivendell House of Healing, how eager his father was to test its effects. Sadly, no one was daring enough to risk one's life for it. _Poor Ada_.

"I think," the elvenlord announced at last, "we shall let this potion…ferment…for a while."

Legolas blinked. "Ferment?" Remembering the term he had learned not too long ago, he stared up at the elvenlord in awe. "Can potions like this ferment?"

_Absolutely not_, thought Elladan.

"Of course," said Elrond, looking down at the elfling with a benevolent smile. "It is a bit…strong as it is. It is best we wait for someone who can…face up to the task…before we test the effects."

Elladan doubted anything less than a troll would be able to face up to the task. Poor Ada would never know the effects of the herb. The poor elfling's latest accomplishment would be doomed to sit on the top shelf of the herb cabinet, unreachable and untested for eternity. At least Arwen had no illusions about anyone wanting to test her burned lembas.

"Now, now," said Elrond briskly, picking up the ewer with an air of resigned finality, "you have done very well with the mixtures, Legolas. Next time, Elladan will help you with a new…_downscaled_…version of this drink."

If there were to be a next time within the next hundred years. Elladan knew how rare these herbs were. He wanted to sigh for his father.

Elrond glanced at Elladan as he swept across the room to place the ewer on the top shelf of the herb cabinet. "Now, go out and enjoy the sun, little one. Arwen is out in the stables."

With a degree of relief mixed with new dread, Elladan watched the elfling run out of the room. Legolas' eyes were sparkling with excitement already.

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Arwen was looking longingly at the empty stall when Legolas joined her at the stables. He looked around in wonder.

"I thought one was still left," he said. Arwen shook her head sadly.

"A messenger took her. Glorfindel has to be warned."

Legolas turned to her in alarm. "About what? Is there danger coming?"

Arwen gave a solemn nod. "A Gandalf is coming."

She blinked as the Legolas nearly leaped with excitement. "Gandalf?" cried the blond elfling, eyes sparkling. "Gandalf is coming?"

Arwen nodded, peering curiously into his face. "Do you know this Gandalf?"

Legolas nodded, almost bursting with happiness. He whirled and sprinted out of the stables. Arwen stared. He reappeared moments later, grabbed her hand, and pulled her out. "Let's go greet him!" he cried excitedly. Arwen grinned.

"Last one to get to him is an orc!" she giggled. They broke into a delighted run, laughing as they tumbled down the gently sloping hill in a mass of limbs and hair and giggles and sputters. The green grass was fresh upon their hair as they rolled and ran, laughter scattering in the wind.

The two elflings had run, taking turns outrunning the other, far out into the rolling plains when there were no more meshes of trees and bushes. All around them, green hills stretched, in gentle waves that seemed to sway with the spring breeze. The elflings slowed to a walk, holding hands, chatting as they walked out into the plains.

"So it was you?" Legolas' wide eyes sparkled.

Arwen put her eyebrows together, attempting to imitate her father. "I wanted it to bake faster," she said. Legolas held her hand tight in a gesture of comfort.

"Maybe if it takes longer, it will taste better," he said, peering into her morose face. Arwen attempted to thread together her eyebrows again.

"But when I become the greatest lemba baker on Middle Earth, I will make them quick as well as tasty," she said with determination. "Everyone will be able to have as many lembas as they want, and take it with them on trips on really short notice!" She turned to Legolas with a delighted sparkle in her eyes. "Whenever you go off on a trip, I'll pack you lots of lembas too!"

Legolas bounced with excitement. "Then I'll make you lots of potions! Everyone will have your lembas and my potions when they go on trips!"

"And they'll be the best on Middle Earth!" Arwen made a threatening gesture at an invisible enemy. "And whoever has your potions and my lembas will be the mightiest traveler on Middle Earth!" she ran ahead with a laugh. Legolas followed.

He almost bumped into her when she slowed. The air was still.

With a quick rise and fall of her chest, she looked around, blinking. "I don't think this is the path," she said, uncertainty edging into her voice.

Legolas looked around, searching for familiar landmarks. Indeed, these plains were too open, too generously vast and treeless, for there to be any sensible paths in them. His body stiffened. Taking Arwen's small hand into his own small one, he pulled her slowly with him as he backed away.

"Let's go back," he whispered. Suddenly a still silence seemed to descend upon them; there were no birds, no bees. No flowers, no trees – the only sounds were the sways of quiet grass.

"Do you think it's dangerous?" whispered Arwen, not daring to raise her voice above the sound of the breeze. "We're not that far from the house."

"But there are no trees," Legolas pointed out, glancing up at the great, fluffy, white clouds above his head in the expansive blue sky. Under such a peaceful sky, in such vast, green lands, he felt wrong. Something was wrong. At his young age, being accustomed to the shadows of trees, he felt unsafe and unsettled in the absence of them. And no trees meant that as well as they could see attackers, attackers could see them, and would most definitely have longer legs than them… no, this was too dangerous. No place to hide.

Legolas looked at Arwen. "How long do you think it will take Glorfindel to get here?"

Arwen fell into contemplation. "Elrohir said the troops are far away." She peered into her companion's anxious face. "That's why the messenger had to leave in a hurry."

Legolas' hand around hers tightened, and she faltered. She now saw the plain dread that was beginning to surface in her companion's bright eyes.

The troops were too far away to come for Gandalf. They were alone. Gandalf was alone. In the endless plains where there was no place to hide – nowhere to run. And furthermore – he and Arwen, caught up in the idea of greeting the wizard, had neglected to inform the inhabitants of the house that they were wandering out into the wild.

_The twins are going to be angry, _Legolas thought woefully. The two were usually good-humored, but something of a frightening storm surfaced in their eyes whenever they came running after missing elflings. Elladan had looked so menacing and scared, the last time he found Legolas sleeping in a tree far away from the house. Elrohir had only been able to spare him a brief, stern glance as he was busy berating a remorseful Arwen, who had fallen asleep on Legolas' belly. But the look on both of their faces – Legolas knew that look well. Ada always had that look when he came searching for him in the forest; when he found him facing a horde of foul creatures. Angry, terrified, and… so deeply sad.

He regretted neglecting to tell anyone of their departure. Elladan and Elrohir would be worried sick. They would be scolded by Lord Elrond. They would be scared, terrified even. Heat stirred uneasily in the elfling's heart.

_I'm sorry_, he whispered silently.

"Let's go back then," whispered Arwen, fearfully. Legolas took a step, but faltered. Arwen peered into his face. "What is it?" she whispered.

"Gandalf," Legolas said, bright eyes wide with terror and dread. "If we run away and he is attacked-"

Arwen stared at Legolas. She did not know the extent of the wizard's powers. But she did know the extent of Legolas' strength, and the friendship between her elfling friend and this mysterious wizard. She was no warrior, though her protective brothers had trained her to wield a sword from a young age. But Legolas was. And his wide eyes trembled with a sheen of terror and anxiety, torn between escorting her safely home and staying to help the wizard. She fought the urge to tug him away with her toward the house.

"Let us go, then," Arwen said with a resolute breath, tightening her hold around the blond elfling's hand. "Let us look for Gandalf."

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_**To Be Continued**_

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, save the plot.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Gandalf is coming to Rivendell. Little Legolas and Arwen go out to greet him, wherein they encounter danger, pride, and figures of speech while Legolas is distressed, Arwen is disbelieving, and Gandalf is up a tree.

**Author's Note**: This story is very much a standalone, but also takes place during one of little Legolas' periodic visits to Rivendell, as described in my Greenleaf Chronicles. As requested by many readers who wanted more of little Legolas mischief since years ago, I have returned to exploring this topic once more.

,

,

By _**Kasmi Kassim**_

,

_**Of Overgrown Dwarves and Lembas**_

_**,**_

_**Part 2**_

_**,**_

The elflings had been walking in silence, hands held tight between them, when Arwen stilled. Legolas glanced as she squinted, pushing back strands of hair floating in the wind.

"The path," she whispered.

Indeed it was. Legolas scurried up the great hill that overlooked a lower basin, and poked his head over the sheer drop of the plateau. The path wound in a great snakelike pattern around the hills, dotted by occasional trees, passing directly underneath their perch. Arwen joined Legolas in his vigil, and together they squinted at a gray speck that traveled slowly up the winding path from afar. Legolas' face burst into joy.

"Gandalf!" he cried, jumping to his feet.

Arwen scrambled up beside him, staring down at the gray-clad old man. "Is it the wizard?"

Legolas nodded vigorously, scanning the area for a quick way to climb down the plateau and meet the path. As gentle as the hills were, it did not look very safe to simply jump, or even slide, down the slope.

"Do you think he can hear us?" Arwen peered over the edge again, creasing her brows. "Call him," she urged.

Legolas frowned. Even if the wizard looked up to spot them, it would still be some time until they crossed the distance to meet. And the shape of these hills... Legolas shook his head.

"Bad creatures might hear us," he whispered. "And if either of us gets attacked, we can't help each other. We should wait for him to come closer before we go out to meet him."

Arwen fell into a hush. The air was still, save the gentle brush of the wind. She slowly lowered herself onto her stomach, lying flat and peering over the plateau. Legolas automatically followed her example. Two pairs of round eyes blinked over the edge to the old man below.

"Are you sure he is the wizard?" Arwen squirmed.

Confused, Legolas followed her gaze. Of course Gandalf was a wizard! He had seen his magic firsthand. He had witnessed him at battle. He had stood with him in battle. Gandalf was more than a wizard; he was Gandalf.

"Maybe he's an evil creature in disguise," Arwen whispered conspiratorially, eyes wide. "Glorfindel told me some creatures do that."

Legolas stared down at the wizard. He could not bring himself to consider the matter. Of all people in Arda, Gandalf!

"But it's Gandalf," he said uncertainly.

Arwen pointed at the face barely visible from underneath a pointy gray hat. "But he's hairy," she said, wrinkling her nose. "HAIRY."

Legolas could not dispute that.

They went back to watching him from their hiding. The old man neared, his gait weary and his back bent. His mouth was incessantly uttering what Legolas suspected, with disapproval, were very bad words. He leaned against a nearby tree, taking a breath, and straightened again to walk some more, before resting on another tree. With a great sigh and a string of utterances, he took out his pipe and began to smoke.

Solemlny, Arwen theorized: "He must be a dwarf."

Legolas was doubtful. "But Ada said dwarves are short."

"They're still taller than you," Arwen said, with a smug glance in his direction. Legolas scowled.

"He's overgrown," explained Arwen, soothingly. "An overgrown dwarf."

Legolas frowned, deep in thought. He had never heard of such things - but then, the world was full of things he had never known about. For one, Arwen had been disbelieving when he had first described to her the horrors of the spiders in Mirkwood. She had called him a child, just a little condescendingly, until Legolas ran off in a huff and dragged back an amused Elladan to verify. Of course, Elladan had never been to Mirkwood himself, but knew enough of the world to be able to testify to the indignant elfling's insists - after some feigned ignorance and much childish stomping. And if Arwen had never known of giant spiders, then it was possible that he himself had not known of giant dwarves. Ada had never mentioned such a thing, but then again, Ada had never really told him what a wizard really was. Gandalf was just...Gandalf.

"And," said Arwen, matter-of-factly, "he apparently likes his pipe better than lembas." She paused. And then she added, helpfully, "like a dwarf."

That… was also true.

The wizard moved on, puffing at his pipe with an air of satisfaction. He came nearer and nearer, until he began to pass the path directly beneath the elflings. They scrambled to their feet, holding hands as they picked their way down the slope to cut into the path below. Arwen wobbled behind, and Legolas tightened his hold, desperately hoping not to tumble down the slope. It was very steep.

The old man looked up at the sound of Arwen's soft cry of surprise as she nearly fell on top of Legolas. Glancing around, he saw two elflings almost crashing into each other as they skidded down the dangerous slope. His mouth fell open.

"Why, what ever are you doing, Thranduilion!" he thundered from afar, approaching the slope in quick strides. "The first I see you since Mirkwood, and you have to be jumping cliffs before my eyes?" He waved his staff. "Hold, hold, you implings! Stop clambering down!"

"Gandalf!" Legolas cried happily, as he wobbled his way down. Arwen nearly clung to his shoulder. "Gandalf, I missed you!"

Only after hearing the child's cry did the wizard seem to realize that they were shouting at each other. He glanced around worriedly. Legolas followed his gaze, stilling into silence, as he looked around as well. Gandalf sighed in exasperated relief.

"Fool of a Leaf," scowled Gandalf, as Legolas wobbled to a standstill. "I am as tired as wet cotton and you make me come running to catch your life." He shifted his gaze to the round-eyed child who hid shyly behind Legolas. "And that must be Elrond's little starlet."

Legolas did not sigh in relief. His wide-eyed gaze remained riveted upon the horizon where Gandalf had just glanced. His hand tightened around Arwen's.

With instinctive dread, Gandalf followed the elfling's gaze. He could not see as well as the elfling could, but he could hear a distant roar. The plains provided little cover for those who wished to ambush. But it did provide easy footing for a head-on attack.

"Run!" Gandalf shouted, readying his staff. Legolas reached for his bow. Gandalf scowled. "No, you foolish Leaf, climb back up to that hill! Do you want to get swamped by orcs?"

"But-" Terror lay in the clear blue orbs that looked up into gray ones. "But you alone-"

"We have done this together before, little Leaf," muttered Gandalf, spitting out his pipe. He stood facing the direction of the cries, at last recognizing a squirming mass of black outlining the edge of the plains. "A wizard can take care of oneself."

Arwen glanced between the old man and the looming black mass, uncertain. Legolas grabbed her hand and turned, beginning to scramble back up the plateau. "Hurry, Arwen," he cried, pulling her as she stumbled. "Hold my hand!"

"But the dwarf-" she cried weakly, as Legolas began to drag her up the hill. She glanced back at the old man. "He might-"

Staff heroically raised, facing the now-recognizable figures of dashing orcs, Gandalf glanced. _Dwarf?_

The elflings were halfway up the hill when the first line of orcs came. At first an army, now they were scattered, having run with all their might to catch the old man who stood in the road. With the slower ones falling behind, the fast ones arrived first, conveniently spaced for Gandalf's liking. He gritted his teeth. This was still going to be a hard blow.

And so it was. His body rocked as the orc crashed into him head on, pushing him backwards as his feet slid against the grass. The impact sent a jarring echo throughout his bones, causing him to almost drop his staff. He cursed under his breath. If only he had not been so tired, he would have been able to prepare some magic for these beasts.

_Just give me a breather_, he thought drily as weapons swung and bodies lunged. He ducked, swung his staff, and rolled, glancing up to see the elflings watching in horror. They were frozen still, halfway up the slope.

"Up you go, little implings!" Gandalf huffed. An orc took the chance to crash into the wizard's only weapon. The staff went flying out of his hands, airborne.

All eyes followed in suspended silence. The staff flew high, higher – until it made a great arc in the sky, and dropped onto the hands of a small, dark-eyed elfling. She stared at the staff.

"Elflings!" The hoarse cry of the orcs was an exhilarated shriek. "Elflings!"

Gandalf watched with surreal dread as the orcs turned away from him in one unified motion, turned toward the elflings, and began to mill toward them. And as quickly as they changed their course, an arrow sang.

Thump!

An orc swerved backwards, hitting the ground. Gandalf wished this whole cursed situation hadn't been so cursedly familiar. "Run, little elf! Run!" He paused. "And throw me my staff!"

As Gandalf waved his arms amid the swarm of orcs, Arwen's aim faltered. She was not sure she could throw that far, nor that accurately – she couldn't let the bad ugly orcs get the staff! Desperate eyes looked around as Legolas stood before her, swiftly leveling another arrow. As he released, his lips set in determined concentration, Arwen gave a triumphant cry and readied the staff. Gandalf followed her gaze.

_No, not the tree…_

"Here!" cried the elfling, throwing with all her might. The orcs watched in strange fascination as the staff flew over their heads and lodged itself securely into the tree behind Gandalf. The orcs stared, stupefied.

Thump!

The eyes turned back to the elflings, and a cry of anger spread as more bodies were revealed to be lying on the ground, having fallen while they were watching the elf-child throw the staff. And the other elf-child continued to rain death upon them, swiftly, precisely. Gandalf grabbed the trunk of the tree.

"Run!" he cried. The orcs were not light enough to clamber up that steep hill. They would have to take the roundabout path, and the elflings would have a head start in their escape toward the havens. Being trapped here in a battle with the army of them would prove to be fatal, staff or no.

As the elflings began to scamper up the hill again, Gandalf sighed. Spiders in Mirkwood, and now orcs in Rivendell. _So much for a welcome._

Quickly losing interest in the old man, the orcs began to pursue the escaping elflings. Heavy bodies began to climb up the hill, but as the elflings disappeared over the peak, the orcs slid down, growling, shouting at each other to hurry it up, go faster – and clunking down on top of each other, tumbling downhill in a cursing mass. Some of the other orcs turned away, abandoning the thought of climbing plateaus, and took off into the winding path.

Gandalf strengthened his hold upon the tree. _Well_, he muttered to himself, _as long as there is no elf around to witness this..._

Flailing his legs and hmphing with exertion, he began to climb the tree.

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The elflings were not sure which direction they were taking. The plains were wide, and without a path to guide them, all they saw were the endless expanses of identical hills and occasional trees surrounded by green grass. Arwen held her panting long enough to cry for help whenever Legolas paused to shoot at the oncoming enemy. They were gaining fast.

She screamed, one more time, before turning to see another orc go down. Legolas was swift and deadly. And running out of arrows. Her heart lodged in her throat.

Pausing for another shot of an arrow, Legolas bent down to pick up a large rock and thrust it into Arwen's hand. She clutched it in both of her hands, terrified. Arwen had never seen anyone die before. She felt sick.

Legolas pulled her along once more, having shot only enough to make them hold back for the briefest of moments.

"Legolas," she panted. "Which way?"

"Left!"

Being a regular visitor to Rivendell, he knew the way well, and being a wood elf, his sense of direction was keener than hers. She ran, tugging at his wrist, as he stopped to shoot another arrow. She could feel the ground shake beneath their feet. They were being overtaken swiftly. Huffing and puffing, her lungs constricted painfully. She wanted to cry.

With a small cry, she stumbled. Legolas almost ran into her back, before steadying himself. Quickly she scrambled back up to her feet, but the orcs were upon them like a dark wave. And the wave parted into a massive ring around the two of them. Silence fell.

Arwen blinked, forcing her legs to keep up her weight. The orcs were snickering as they surrounded them. They were ugly. Uglier than dwarves. And dark, and scary, with glinting eyes and dirty teeth… she gripped Legolas' arm tight, as he glanced around, attempting to shield her with his own small body. She could smell the breaths of the orcs. They were but five armspans apart all around. Death was staring her in the face.

"Legolas," she hiccupped. Tears welled up into a thick glaze before her eyes. "Don't die."

Legolas did not glance back. Arwen felt his hold around her arm tightening as he pressed himself backward, covering her as much as he could. "I'm not going to die, Arwen," he whispered, his young voice determined.

The orcs smiled in amusement as the elfling leveled his arrow and aimed it squarely toward the head of a leading orc. The orcs from the side moved in, and Legolas swung his aim in a threatening arc at the surrounding orcs, causing the ring of orcs to ripple with unease. "Stay back!" the young voice demanded.

An orc from the side chuckled. "And you'll shoot? But it will be only one out of all of us, little elf."

Legolas pointed the arrow in the direction of the voice. "Then you can be that one." Bright blue eyes blazed.

Arwen grasped the rock tightly. Legolas' small body was as taut as a bow, ready to spring. When an orc shifted, the blond elfling's gaze darted, shooting a threatening glance in that direction, while his aim remained steady upon the leader.

Thump!

An orc to the side fell. The surrounding orcs shifted, breaking the black ring. Grabbing Arwen's hand, Legolas ran.

Together the elflings leaped over the felled orc, and broke loose of the ring. They could hear curses as the orcs gave chase. It was a losing chase; the orcs were much faster. Arwen gritted her teeth. Legolas' grasp upon her hand was slippery. She dared a glance his way.

And reaching toward her small companion was the large, gnarled hand of an orc, reaching out as he gained upon them. His fingernails were almost upon the whipping strands of yellow hair. With a scream, Arwen released Legolas' hand, and swung the rock blindly. Legolas deftly ducked out of the way as Arwen continued to flail the rock about, until the orc fell back with a cry. Arwen screamed louder.

And suddenly, there was a blood-curdling screech.

Legolas stumbled to a stop as an orc slumped upon him. A spear skidded onto the grass to the elfling's side. Legolas turned.

Before he could fully fathom which direction to look, another dark spear flew. Another orc fell.

Arwen scrambled to hold Legolas' hand before turning to see. Legolas put an arm protectively about her. The orc army was realigning. Pitting itself into a line against another – a line of two elves, identical in their dark rivulets of hair and grim determination upon their eyes as they raised their bows. Before the orcs could launch an attack, brown arrows, long and deadly, began to fly.

The orcs backed away, bewildered, scrambling to realign, as arrow after arrow rained upon them in unexpected directions. Dark eyes glowed grimly and resolutely, smoothened in steely experience of delivering swift and merciless death.

"Ellahir!" The elflings cried in unison. Elrohir turned a glance as he released another arrow.

"That," he said wryly, "is not cute."

When enough orcs had been moved out of the way, the twins began to make their way toward the elflings. As Elrohir continued to shoot, Elladan kneeled before the elflings, swiftly assessing each one for injuries. The elflings moved behind the twins as Elladan stood to join his twin, swaying on his feet, and Legolas realized that Elrohir's arrows were flying in unexpected arcs. Something was wrong with both of them.

The elves and orcs now stood regarding each other, holding their ground in tense silence. Elladan's fingers lingered on Arwen's neck as Elrohir spread his palm upon Legolas' yellow head.

"You," Elladan breathed, gaze riveted upon the opposing line, "are so dead when we get back."

Legolas hoped it was a merciful death.

The orcs eyed them carefully, spreading out. They were now supplemented by the last of their stragglers. The twins exchanged glances. The orcs were realizing that the elves were not at their full fighting capacity.

Without a word, the twins turned and broke into a run, pushing the elflings ahead of them. The youths occasionally stopped to shoot at the following orcs, before resuming running. Elrohir shook his head, running in a weaving line, as Elladan tugged him along, his feet faltering.

At last, they turned to face the orcs once again, devoid of arrows. Elrohir's eyes wandered searchingly as Elladan swayed. They could keep a protective ring about the elflings with their swords for a good half hour, but it would not last. Elrohir cursed under his breath. Melee was something he never shied away from, but at such odds, especially with elflings in tow, the outcome was clear. He wished he had sent the messenger earlier – if only the patrol had not missed Gandalf by so wide a margin!

"Brother dear," Elrohir breathed, "I think we should see about getting more horses in Imladris."

Elladan unsheathed his sword. "I agree."

As the twins attempted to steady their swords, elflings safely tucked behind them, the orcs began to snicker.

"Two little babes, three little swords," one of them sang in a croaky voice. "Wonder what's next?"

Three?

The twins exchanged glances. Then they glanced back.

Arms crossed and leaning casually against a single horse stood Glorfindel. The twins fought to keep the tension in their arms as they turned their gazes back toward the ocs. The elflings let out a gleeful cry and bounded toward him.

Smiling, the tall elf detached himself from the white horse and petted their small heads as the elflings attached themselves to each of his legs. He gave an imperceptive nod to the twins – a glow in the eye, a smoothly unreadable face – and the two understood. Glorfindel's wrath was seldom seen, but it was swift and ruthless.

Idly stroking his horse's neck, Glorfindel's gaze swept the orcs. With a smile, he bent to gently detach the elflings from his legs with a soft murmur. Then he straightened, and moved forward.

In synchronized movements, the twins backed away, swords still raised, as they took the elflings with them. Elladan pulled Arwen close, turning her away from what lay before her, as Glorfindel ambled forward as if he were strolling in a garden.

The orcs fell into wary silence. Clearly the rules of the game had changed; tactics were shifted, positions realigned, and choice of weapon altered, as that choice was now a single tall elf who strolled toward them, donned in light armor and a long sword. The air seemed to subside into tranquil stillness as the elf moved easily in it, commanding every element around him into revered attention. He ambled forth until he stood a distance away from the twins youths and elflings, and came to a stop directly before the leader of the orcs. And then, he smiled.

"Welcome, friends," he said, spreading his arms. "My sincerest apologies for the delay; I have been a shameful host." With an elaborate sweep of his hair, he made a deep bow. "But now that we are all here-" he looked up, a glow in his eyes - "let the party begin."

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_**To Be Continued**_

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, save the plot.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Gandalf is coming to Rivendell. Little Legolas and Arwen go out to greet him, wherein they encounter danger, pride, and figures of speech while Legolas is distressed, Arwen is disbelieving, and Gandalf is up a tree.

**Author's Note**: This story is very much a standalone, but also takes place during one of little Legolas' periodic visits to Rivendell, as described in my Greenleaf Chronicles. As requested by many readers who wanted more of little Legolas mischief since years ago, I have returned to exploring this topic once more.

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By _**Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**Of Overgrown Dwarves and Lembas**_

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**Part 3**

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Arwen's head was buried in Elladan's stomach as she wrapped her short arms about his legs and pressed herself into his embrace. Elladan gently covered her ears with his hands, holding her tight, as sounds of death ripped about them. Legolas watched with silent, wide eyes, leaning close to Elrohir's leg, as the dark-haired youth rested a hand upon his small shoulder. Behind them lined the cavalry of Rivendell, their gazes steady as they watched their commander in silence. And before them, Glorfindel went about the swarming black mass alone, gold and glowing one moment and white and transparent the next, a blazing whirlwind of death.

At last, he kicked away a body from his foot, and casually wiped his sword. "The bunch of them together don't add up to that spar with Thranduil," he murmured, shaking his head as if in pity. Tossing back his hair, he turned toward the elflings with an exuberant smile; the blond elfling broke into a broad smile in return.

The silence broke, and soldiers moved forward to go about collecting the bodies. The twins looked up wearily as the tall elf approached, and looked down at the elflings latched to them. "Quite an adventure they had, hm?" he smiled. Arwen peered out from the rumpled folds of Elladan's tunic. Glorfindel bent forward to peer at her in return. "You can come out now, little one."

As Arwen began to slowly release the tunic from her tightly curled fingers, Legolas watched in fascination as the warriors began a large fire. _Maybe they're baking lembas_, he thought, with renewed respect for Arwen.

Glorfindel turned to speak with a dark-haired warrior, giving orders in quiet, concise words, before turning back to the twins.

"You two, take my horse," he said, "and head back to get your wounds tended. No, Elladan, be quiet." He raised a hand. "I can tell by your sorry postures that you've been tumbling and scraping about the valley in search of these implings." He turned to add more instructions to the dark-haired captain, who began to direct the orc bodies to the fire. "A number of troops will ride with you," Glorfindel continued to the twins, "and I have spread out a portion to search for Gandalf. We'll have backup when more troops catch up and the orc pyres are done here."

"Gandalf!" cried Legolas, clutching Elrohir's leg. His eyes widened in horror to realize he had forgotten all about the wizard. "Gandalf, we must get Gandalf!"

"Yes, yes, Legolas, I know." Glorfindel stroked the elfling's head soothingly. "He will be well."

"But Gandalf…" Legolas' wide eyes were filled with anguish as he clutched Glorfindel's tunic, looking up imploringly. "His staff… the tree…"

"The what?"

"He's a dwarf," whispered Arwen secretly, from the folds of Elladan's tunic. Confused eyes met above the elflings' heads. The twins glanced down at the elflings, and then glanced at Glorfindel's tremendous stallion. Legolas clutched Glorfindel's tunic tighter.

At last, Glorfindel sighed. "All right, little ones," he said, with an indulgent smile, "lead the way."

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The tree was easy to find, being surrounded by orc bodies. Legolas scurried toward the tree, calling anxiously, as Arwen trotted behind. Glorfindel was a distance behind them, supervising the warriors who had fanned out in the area and had made themselves invisible.

"Gandalf, Gandalf!" cried Legolas. "Gandaaaaaaaaaaalf!"

"Yes, yes, Thranduilion, I'm not deaf," huffed an impatient voice from the foliage. Legolas leaped with excitement as a bundle of gray appeared among shifting branches.

"Gandalf!" he cried. "You are all right!"

"More than all right, elfling," hmphed the wizard, "as you can see by my handiwork."

Arwen peered up at the old man as she carefully picked her way through the bodies and approached the tree. Gandalf stared down. She touched her heart and bowed.

"I am Arwen of Rivendell," she said quietly, and tilted her head to peer curiously upward. "Are you a wizard?"

Gandalf waved his staff. "What did you think this was when you threw it, a candlestick? Of course I'm a wizard." He huffed indignantly, looking down at the wide-eyed elfling. With more gravity, he added, "I am Gandalf the Gray."

"But," Arwen pointed out solemnly, "why are you still in that tree?"

"Because you threw my cursed staff into it!"

"So you cannot come down?" Arwen's gaze was steadfast.

Gandalf flinched. Why did children have to inherit gazes of millennia-old parents so early on? _Witnesses_, he thought miserably. _And elflings at that_.

Legolas' eyes grew wide. "Can you not climb trees, Gandalf?" Perhaps Arwen was right.

"A real wizard," reasoned Arwen, ever patient, "should have no difficulty climbing trees." Her dark eyes were indulgent upon the old man.

Gandalf flailed his staff. "Does anyone have sense around here? I'm not an elf!"

Arwen seemed unconvinced. Legolas agreed with her sentiment.

"You don't have to be an elf to climb trees," Arwen declared with a frown. Then she glanced uncertainly at Legolas. "Do you?"

Legolas blinked in return.

With a sigh, Gandalf began to lower himself from his perch. _Better to get out of this situation before more witnesses arrive. _Clinging to a sturdy branch, he gingerly stepped down upon another swaying branch, stiffening when it bowed under his feet. The elflings watched in wonder as the old man's legs flailed about as he hung on, while a string of curses quite freely fell out of the tree by contrast. Legolas was about to step forward when a melodious voice beat him to it.

"My, dear Valar. Will you permit me to offer you aid, Mithrandir?"

It was the rich baritone of Glorfindel, light and songlike. Gandalf scowled, his body swinging unsteadily.

"No, you wicked elf. Be gone."_ Aiya, Glorfindel. There goes my reputation on Middle-Earth..._

But Glorfindel stayed, of course, to keep a watchful eye on the old man, who had managed to take one step further down. As legs flailed and gnarled hands fumbled, Legolas realized that it would take him another half a day until his feet reached the ground. Glorfindel did not seem to mind at all, seemingly at ease as he stood with his arms folded, amusement lingering upon his lips.

Legolas tugged on Glorfindel's tunic. When the older elf looked down, he raised himself on his toes. "Why does he call you wicked?" he whispered loudly. Glorfindel smiled upon confused eyes.

"Because," he whispered, just as loudly, "we know he won't accept my help, even if he fell. There's a thing called pride, little elf."

"Pride?" Legolas frowned. It seemed so unreasonable.

"Grownups make it," Arwen supplied solemnly. "They like it better than lembas."

Inconceivable.

"When I become the greatest lemba baker on Middle Earth," Arwen whispered, "I will make lembas that even grownups will like better than pride."

Legolas looked at her hopefully. If such lembas could be made, then Gandalf would perhaps be persuaded into giving up his pride in exchange for the lembas so Glorfindel could help him down.

"I can hear all of your whispering, you overgrown elflings!" called the wizard from his tree. Legolas looked up in wonder.

"But Glorfindel isn't overgrown," he said, eyes wide. He peered up at Glorfindel, who continued to watch the wizard with amusement. "Well, he is taller than you," he admitted, "but Ada said that's natural for grownups." Then he added uncertainly, glancing at Gandalf with an understanding – if not compassionate – look, "At least, grownup elves."

Glorfindel's shoulders shook with silent laughter. A string of curses followed from the tree.

Apparently deciding that the wizard had flailed himself in the air long enough, Glorfindel began to stride forward. Gandalf saw this and panicked, swinging his legs back up to the branch where he had started. "Stop that, stop that you elf!" he scowled. "If I fall, it's going to be the death of me!"

"You're right. Since you're not an elf, after all," agreed Glorfindel, coming to a stop beneath the tree and looking upward. Legolas paled. Arwen clutched his arm with her small hands.

"Is he going to die?" she whispered, eyes wide and tragic. "He may be a dwarf, but I don't want him to die."

Legolas put a hesitant hand on top of hers, and squeezed their small hands together. "Glorfindel won't let him die," he said fervently. Alas, he was too small, even with Arwen's help, to do much about the wizard's predicament – but surely, a tall grownup was here, and it was Glorfindel, after all; all would be well. The two elflings watched with dread as death flailed its legs before their eyes, and an unblinking, unfazed, and unafraid Glorfindel stood beneath it, radiating with promises of hope and strength and life-saving heroism, by looking up grandly.

"Come, Mithrandir, jump into my arms!" sang Glorfindel, spreading his arms. He sidestepped a crashing staff aimed at his head. "Would you rather I climb up? That would be romantic, I admit, but you know how scandals spread in the kitchens-" he dodged a flapping hat from the tree.

Gandalf began to curse, looked down upon a disapproving elfling's face, and paused. He switched languages.

As colorful curses began to tumble about an amused Glorfindel, Legolas ascertained that this was the Gandalf he knew. Except the curses were in the dwarven tongue.

"I told you," said Arwen, squeezing his arm with a pale smile, "he's a dwarf."

Legolas was helplessly confused.

"Move out of the way, you imphead, I am going to jump," growled the wizard from his precarious footing. Legolas noted that his body looked too heavy and unsteady for him to have much choice in the matter, but Glorfindel did not comment. Instead he picked up Gandalf's staff and dusty hat, held them reverently with both of his hands, and stepped aside with a sweeping bow. Gandalf looked himself over, looking very sorry that he had nothing else to throw at Glorfindel's head.

The wizard righted himself, staring hard at the ground. His body braced with tension. Legolas swallowed. Arwen's squeeze tightened. Glorfindel watched on lazily.

With a valiant cry, suspiciously like a displeased hmph, gray robes flew through the branches. Arwen's breath hitched. Legolas' body stiffened, almost springing forward by reflex. Glorfindel watched on, following with his eyes, and neatly stepped out of the way as the gray bundle crashed past him.

Thump!

No one moved. The gray mass lay on the ground by Glorfindel's feet. Glorfindel shifted, primly picking his feet away from the bundle of gray robes. Between the elflings, Legolas was the first to unfreeze.

"Gandaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalf!"

He bounded toward the tree. Falling to his knees, he picked up the gray figure, realized that it was to big and heavy for his short arms, and settled for holding up the upper body, which proved to be difficult as well. In the end, he was left clutching the mass of gray robes and hair.

"Gandaaaaaaaaaaaaaalf!" he wailed. "No, Gandalf, don't die!"

Arwen appeared on the other side of the wizard, looking down at the body with wide eyes. She seemed at a loss as to whether she should cry or not. She glanced at Legolas, mournfully, as the still-wailing elfling hiccupped his way to baring the old man's wrist and loosening his chunky cloak to where he could see a hairy neck.

"His pulse is still going," he sniffled. Arwen quickly bent over the body, fumbling with his wrist.

Legolas bent over the prone body. "Gandalf," he called again, eyes brimming with thick tears, "don't dieeeeeeeeeeeeee."

The old man moaned. Arwen perked her head up, eyes glowing with hope. Her small hands roamed Gandalf's arm, trying to find his pulse, and held down the stirring body, determined to finish her ministrations. Legolas gasped and moved to peer over the old man's face. His small hands traveled up and down the wizard's hairy face, tapping, slapping, shaking. "Gandalf," he called woefully, tugging at closed eyelids, "open your eyes."

"Ah, stop that, stop that, you little imps," murmured the old man, batting Legolas' hands away from his eyelids and shifting his arms under Arwen's restraining little hands. "I'm not dead."

The elflings watched, holding their breaths, as the old man opened his eyes sat up with a weary groan. He began to rub his neck with a scowl.

"Gandalf!" Legolas cried, throwing himself into the wizard's arms. Gandalf hmphed, sounding displeased, but stroking the elfling's head all the same.

Wide-eyed, Arwen watched, a relieved sigh deflating her little body. She sat back wearily, and slowly climbed back to her feet.

Gandalf looked up over the elfling latched onto his robes, and shot a dark glance at Glorfindel, who still stood at his place.

"When I enter Rivendell," Gandalf scowled, "I'm charging you with attempted murder."

Glorfindel laughed. "Surely, Mithrandir, you are too modest. You would not expect us to fear you dead after a short fall like that?"

"I was tired, you musclehead, I have been traveling all-" he stopped, looking down to meet the gaze of a shocked elfling. "What?"

"Really?" Legolas' small hands curled around Gandalf's robes. "You weren't really going to die?"

"Uh," said the wizard.

Legolas looked betrayed.

"It's called a figure of speech, little elf," said Glorfindel soothingly, at last moving from his stand to approach. Legolas scrambled up from the mess of robes and cloak, albeit a bit unsteady, and moved to stand with Glorfindel. Glorfindel tousled his hair. "It wasn't really a lie. He didn't mean it."

"A figure-uv-speech," pronounced Arwen carefully. "I heard Erestor and Elrohir and Elladan and Ada using it. Grownups like it a lot."

"Better than lembas?" Legolas blinked.

"Better than lembas," Arwen confirmed gravely.

Legolas was beginning to find with bewilderment that there was a considerable number of things grownups preferred over lembas.

"Well, if you are quite well, Mithrandir, let us head home." Glorfindel bent to scoop up Legolas and Arwen in each of his arms, resting them against each side of his chest. The dark-haired elfling giggled and began to pick up strands of his yellow hair, watching them fall through her fingers.

Looking back to see that Gandalf was on his feet and following, albeit worn and grumpy, Legolas leaned against Glorfindel's broad chest. He was getting sleepy. But he would remember to apologize to Elladan and Elrohir for making them worry. And he would remember to ask Ada if he liked those trite grownup things better than lembas too. And if Gandalf was really a dwarf. Maybe Glorfindel was overgrown. Maybe everyone on Arda was overgrown…

Snaking a short arm around Glorfindel's neck, the elfling sank into sleep, and into the world of dreams – filled with overgrown lembas climbing trees, swearing elves running to catch them and yellow-haired dwarves making prides and figure-uv-speeches.

He couldn't remember what either looked like. A bit like lembas, maybe.

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Elrond was standing alone in the path that led to the house. His body radiated serenity, but his glittering eyes betrayed the relief that whispered about him. His smile was deep, age-worn, as he welcomed them into the valley.

"The twins had gone in to rest," he said, nodding at Glorfindel. His eyes proceeded to peruse through the elflings sleeping on each side of Glorfindle's chest, before moving behind the tall elf to see a scowling, disheveled wizard. "I see you managed to keep our little imps safe."

"Though I'm not so sure about keeping wizards safe," muttered the wizard. Elrond raised an eyebrow.

Glorfindel smiled as he tilted his head in the wizard's direction, careful not to wake the little ones. "Would you rather I caught you in my arms instead?"

Elrond's other eyebrow joined the former.

With an indignant tap of his staff, Gandalf began a sputter of curses, glanced at the stirring elflings, and switched to the dwarven tongue to continue his rant. The dark-haired elfling stirred, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"Told you he's a dwarf," she murmured, and leaned against his chest once more as Glorfindel soothingly hushed her.

Legolas snuggled closer to his latch around the balrog slayer's neck. "Ada likes me better than lembaaaaaaaaas," he murmured, dozing off to sleep again.

With a soft chuckle, Glorfindel murmured something of putting elflings to bed, and tiptoed away into the ornate house. Left alone, Elrond looked long at Gandalf, and the many twigs and leaves that adorned his cloak and hair.

"Well," said Gandalf, looking down at himself distastefully. "It's a long story…"

Elrond smiled. "Do tell," he said, with a sweeping gesture toward the House of Healing, "while I prepare you a restorative drink."

With great relief, Gandalf began to follow the elvenlord into the house. "That sounds blessed," he muttered, "you have no idea how tired and sore I am."

With his back turned to the wizard, Elrond's smirk went unnoticed. "Ah, my friend," he said as he led the way, "I believe we have the perfect drink for you then, freshly concocted by our little Thranduilion himself…"

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_**The End**_

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